The Sampaguita

Natividad Marquez
Little sampaguita
With the wondering eye
Did a tiny fair
Drop you where you lie?
In the witching hour
Of the tropic night
Did the careless moonbeam
leave you in its fight?


Afternoon on a hill
Edna St. Millay
I will be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.

I will look at cliffs and clouds
with quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
And the grass rise.

And when lights begin to show
Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
And then start down!

Reflection:
In this poem tell us the beauty of our mother nature. And it says, we must love
and care the nature that offer to us by our almighty god. Our land is full of love and care
that surround us and we as a son of god, we born to love and care the mother nature to
provide all the things to make our surroundings harvest a verry fruitful legacy.











Who walks the world with soul awake
Florence Earle Coates
WHO walks the world with soul awake
Finds beauty everywhere;
Though labor be his portion,
Though sorrow be his share,
He looks beyond obscuring clouds,
Sure that the light is there!

And if, the ills of mortal life
Grown heavier to bear,
Doubt come with its perplexities
And whisper of despair,
He turns with love to suffering men
And, lo! God, too, is there.



Daffodils
William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Reflection:
Some people survived because of love that sent us by our
neighborhood. In this poem tells us how essential the love and peace by the people that
always in our side and that we mingled in our every day living. They are like daffoldils
who give their full support and advice to us to face our problem and obstacles or
hindrances in our life. In every time they are there to shine in the middle of sadness and
emptyness. All we have to do is to appreciate those sacrifices and love they offer to us.




















The Star - spangled Banner
Francis Scott Key (1779-1843)
O SAY, can you see, by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming!
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there;
Oh, say, does that Star - Spangled Banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected, now shines on the stream;
'Tis the star-spangled banner! O long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion,
A home and a country should leave us no more?
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave,
From terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave:
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved homes and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land
Praise the Power that made and preserved us a nation!
Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just,
And this be out motto:-- "In God is our trust!"
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

Reflection:
In this poem tell us the conflictness of the world, crime are rising specially the
absence of unity so called war













Abou Ben Adhem
James Henry Leigh Hunt
Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold:
Exceeding peace had made Ben Ad hem bold,
And to the Presence in the room he said
"What writest thou?"The vision raised its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered "The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerly still, and said "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow men."

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blessed,
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.
Leisure
William Henry Davies
What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this is if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

The Ox
Giauque Carducci (18351907)

From the Poesie

I LOVE thee, pious ox; a gentle feeling

Of vigour and of peace thou givst my heart.

How solemn, like a monument, thou art!

Over wide fertile fields thy calm gaze stealing,

Unto the yoke with grave contentment kneeling,
To mans quick work thou dost thy strength impart.

He shouts and goads, and answering thy smart,

Thou turnst on him thy patient eyes appealing.

From thy broad nostrils, black and wet, arise

Thy breaths soft fumes; and on the still air swells,
Like happy hymn, thy lowings mellow strain.

In the grave sweetness of thy tranquil eyes

Of emerald, broad and still reflected dwells

All the divine green silence of the plain.

Opportunity
Edward Rowland Sill (1841-1887)
THIS I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream:--
There spread a cloud of dust along a plain;
And underneath the cloud, or in it, raged
A furious battle, and men yelled, and swords
Shocked upon swords and shields. A prince's banner
Wavered, then staggered backward, hemmed by foes.
A craven hung along the battle's edge,
And thought, "Had I a sword of keener steel--
That blue blade that the king's son bears, -- but this
Blunt thing--!" he snapped and flung it from his hand,
And lowering crept away and left the field.
Then came the king's son, wounded, sore bestead,
And weapon less, and saw the broken sword,
Hilt-buried in the dry and trodden sand,
And ran and snatched it, and with battle shout
Lifted afresh he hewed his enemy down,
And saved a great cause that heroic day.

Martin
Joyce Kilmer
When I am tired of earnest men,
Intense and keen and sharp and clever,
Pursuing fame with brush or pen
Or counting metal disks forever,
Then from the halls of Shadowland
Beyond the trackless purple sea
Old Martin's ghost comes back to stand
Beside my desk and talk to me.

Still on his delicate pale face
A quizzical thin smile is showing,
His cheeks are wrinkled like fine lace,
His kind blue eyes are gay and glowing.
He wears a brilliant-hued cravat,
A suit to match his soft grey hair,
A rakish stick, a knowing hat,
A manner blithe and debonair.

How good that he who always knew
That being lovely was a duty,
Should have gold halls to wander through
And should himself inhabit beauty.
How like his old unselfish way
To leave those halls of splendid mirth
And comfort those condemned to stay
Upon the dull and sombre earth.

Some people ask: "What cruel chance
Made Martin's life so sad a story?"
Martin? Why, he exhaled romance,
And wore an overcoat of glory.
A fleck of sunlight in the street,
A horse, a book, a girl who smiled,
Such visions made each moment sweet
For this receptive ancient child.

Because it was old Martin's lot
To be, not make, a decoration,
Shall we then scorn him, having not
His genius of appreciation?
Rich joy and love he got and gave;
His heart was merry as his dress;
Pile laurel wreaths upon his grave
Who did not gain, but was, success!

Prayers of Steel
Carl Sandburg
Lay me on an anvil, O God.
Beat me and hammer me into a crowbar.
Let me pry loose old walls.
Let me lift and loosen old foundations.

Lay me on an anvil, O God.
Beat me and hammer me into a steel spike.
Drive me into the girders that hold a skyscraper together.
Take red-hot rivets and fasten me into the central girders.
Let me be the great nail holding a skyscraper through blue nights into white stars.

The Rural Maid
Fernando M. Maramag


Thy glance, sweet maid, when first we met,
Had left a heart that aches for thee,
I feel the pain of fond regret
Thy heart, perchance, is not for me.


We parted: though we met no more,
My dreams are dreams of thee, fair maid;
I think of thee, my thoughts implore
The hours my lips on thine are laid.


Forgive these words that love impart,
And pleading, bare the poets breast;
And if a rose with thorns thou art,
Yet on my breast that rose may rest.


I know not what to name thy charms,
Thou art half human, half divine;
And if I could hold thee in my arms,
I know both heaven and earth were mine.




A Psalm of Life
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the worlds broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, however pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God oerhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing oer lifes solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labour and to wait.













Happiness
Carl Sandburg


I ASKED the professors who teach the meaning of life to tell
me what happiness is.
And I went to famous executives who boss the work of
thousands of men.
They all shook their heads and gave me a smile as though
I was trying to fool with them
And then one Sunday afternoon I wandered out along
the Deplanes river
And I saw a crowd of Hungarians under the trees with
their women and children and a keg of beer and an
accordion.









Fish Crier
Carl Sandburg
I KNOW a Jew fish crier down on Maxwell Street with a
voice like a north wind blowing over corn stubble
in January.
He dangles herring before prospective customers evincing
a joy identical with that of Pavlowa dancing.
His face is that of a man terribly glad to be selling fish,
terribly glad that God made fish, and customers to
whom he may call his wares, from a pushcart.




On His Blindness
John Milton
When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide,
"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies: "God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts: who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed
And post o'er land and ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait.

Sunset
Charles Baudelaire
Fair is the sun when first he flames above
Flinging his joy down in a happy beam
And happy he who can salute with love
The sunset far more glorious than a dream
Flower, stream and furrow! I have seen them all
In the suns eye swoon like one trembling heart
Thought it be late let us with speed depart
To catch at least one last ray ere it fall
But I pursue the fading God in vain
For conquering knight makes firm her dark domain
Mist and gloom fall, and terrors glide between
And graveyard in the shadow swim
And my faint footsteps in the marsh rim
Bruise the cold snail and crawling toad unseen



Pale star of even
Alfred de Musset

Pale star of even on thy distant quest
Lifting thy radiant brow from twilights veil
From out thy azure palace in the west
What sees thou in the dale?
The storm receedes, the winds are lulled breast
The shivering trees weep on the grass beneath,
The evening butterfly, with gilded crest
Flits oer the fragrant health
What sleekest thou on natures sleeping breast
Down toward the mountains thou art sinking fast
Sinking and smiling ,sweet and pensive guest
Thy tremulous gaze has almost look its last.
Sad, silvery tear on evenings mantle brown
Slow gliding downward to the verdant steep
The shepherd sees thee, as across the down
He homewards leads his lingering flock of sheep
Star at this silent our so strangely fair,
Through boundless night, O whither dost do go?
To seek beside the shore a reedy lair
Or like a pearl, sink in the gulf below?
O, if they glowing tresses thou must wet
In oceans brine ,fair star, if thou must die,
En thou forsake us, stay a moment yet
Sweet star of love! Ah, do not leave the sky!

Domestic scenes
Miguel de Unamuno

When shades of night have come
And all my house is sleeping
The silent peace of home
Its arms about them keeping
And the only sound I hear
Is my childrens measured breathing
Then my dream sees life appear
Toward a larger meaning wreathing
Then their breathing seems a prayer
Through their voice of dream repeating
While their consciousness is bare
In their God the father meeting
Dream O Dream Thou art the sign
Of the life that knows no ending
Of that stainless life divine
On this present life attending!
Look not upon me with such eye my son
I would not have thee read my secret clear
Nor would so I deceive my little one
That poison through such fragile veins should scar

Never, O never may they fathers gloom
Obstruct thee from the joy and glow of day
To speak of joy does voice presume?
I do not wish thee joy
For on this earth
To live in mirth
One must be saint or fool
And fool- God save thee boy!
And saint I know not of the school

Go ,stir the brazier coals ,my child
The fire is growing cold
How brief today the sun has smiled!
To think the orb that you behold
One day shall cinder turn,
And Gods great brow, the heavens, enfold
Its ashes like an um.

Sunset
Charles Baudelaire
Fair is the sun when first he flames above
Flinging his joy down in a happy beam
And happy he who can salute with love
The sunset far more glorious than a dream
Flower, stream and furrow! I have seen them all
In the suns eye swoon like one trembling heart
Thought it be late let us with speed depart
To catch at least one last ray ere it fall
But I pursue the fading God in vain
For conquering knight makes firm her dark domain
Mist and gloom fall, and terrors glide between
And graveyard in the shadow swim
And my faint footsteps in the marsh rim
Bruise the cold snail and crawling toad unseen



Pale star of even
Alfred de Musset

Pale star of even on thy distant quest
Lifting thy radiant brow from twilights veil
From out thy azure palace in the west
What sees thou in the dale?
The storm receedes, the winds are lulled breast
The shivering trees weep on the grass beneath,
The evening butterfly, with gilded crest
Flits oer the fragrant health
What sleekest thou on natures sleeping breast
Down toward the mountains thou art sinking fast
Sinking and smiling ,sweet and pensive guest
Thy tremulous gaze has almost look its last.
Sad, silvery tear on evenings mantle brown
Slow gliding downward to the verdant steep
The shepherd sees thee, as across the down
He homewards leads his lingering flock of sheep
Star at this silent our so strangely fair,
Through boundless night, O whither dost do go?
To seek beside the shore a reedy lair
Or like a pearl, sink in the gulf below?
O, if they glowing tresses thou must wet
In oceans brine ,fair star, if thou must die,
En thou forsake us, stay a moment yet
Sweet star of love! Ah, do not leave the sky!

Domestic scenes
Miguel de Unamuno

When shades of night have come
And all my house is sleeping
The silent peace of home
Its arms about them keeping
And the only sound I hear
Is my childrens measured breathing
Then my dream sees life appear
Toward a larger meaning wreathing
Then their breathing seems a prayer
Through their voice of dream repeating
While their consciousness is bare
In their God the father meeting
Dream O Dream Thou art the sign
Of the life that knows no ending
Of that stainless life divine
On this present life attending!
Look not upon me with such eye my son
I would not have thee read my secret clear
Nor would so I deceive my little one
That poison through such fragile veins should scar

Never, O never may they fathers gloom
Obstruct thee from the joy and glow of day
To speak of joy does voice presume?
I do not wish thee joy
For on this earth
To live in mirth
One must be saint or fool
And fool- God save thee boy!
And saint I know not of the school

Go ,stir the brazier coals ,my child
The fire is growing cold
How brief today the sun has smiled!
To think the orb that you behold
One day shall cinder turn,
And Gods great brow, the heavens, enfold
Its ashes like an um.